


To Seduce, Beguile, and Entice

by sleepymccoy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drunken Flirting, First Kiss, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, and a very good student, aziraphale is an experienced seducer, before theyre in a place where they can get together, but hes shit at it, but never in as many words, communication through implied metaphors, consent is got many a time, crowley is delighted, crowley seduces aziraphale, so aziraphale teaches crowley how to seduce him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23117041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymccoy/pseuds/sleepymccoy
Summary: Aziraphale had performed seductions in Crowley’s name before, not eagerly but out of an assumption that it was a tactic that Crowley himself regularly employed. Apparently not. And if Crowley were ever tested on it by Hell, he would have to do better than some bumbling insults followed by a panicked exit.There was no choice, then. In the name of The Arrangement, Aziraphale must teach Crowley how to be succesfully seductive.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 138
Kudos: 566





	1. Bed Sheets

The ground was quite a ways away. They’d survive the fall in all likelihood, but it was a distance. Perhaps two buses standing longways, in the way that buses generally don’t. Maybe even three if it were one of those old ones that occasionally snuck onto a street. 

Aziraphale liked the look of the old buses, even if they were a little loud.

He left the window, his head still spinning slightly from the height. He put his hand to his forehead to steady himself, his slightly drunken state not handling the mild panic he felt burgeoning. 

It was near dead silent and despite the effort the demon put in to shut the door quietly, Aziraphale winced at the click. 

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, hurrying Crowley to talk as he prowled across the dappled moonlight to him.

“There's a guard outside,” Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale winced. “Oh no,” he moaned. He glanced back at the window reluctantly.

“Okay,” Crowley whispered loudly, throwing his hands up in easy defeat. “Sheets it is.”

Aziraphale had no intention of letting that happen. He stalked to Crowley’s side, pulling the low grade cotton bed sheet from his hand. Crowley had jumped to this far too eagerly for his tastes. “Don't be ridiculous,” Aziraphale snapped as Crowley began to pull the second sheet off the bed. “Go deal with the human.”

Crowley fought the under sheet, the corner further from him tucking more solidly against the mattress the more he pulled. Aziraphale did not offer to help.

“I don't know what to do,” Crowley muttered through gritted teeth as he tugged at the sheet. “She's not interested in-”

He interrupted himself, falling to the ground as the sheet finally let up and came free all at once. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows again, not offering him a hand up. 

Crowley pulled the sheet off his face and glared up at Aziraphale. “No greed or sloth or wrath pinged for me, alright!” he snapped.

Load of tosh, Aziraphale decided without long consideration. “Go tempt her,” he instructed vaguely, waving his arm in the door’s general direction.

“I said I got nothing!”

Crowley stood and snatched the sheet from Aziraphale’s hands, quickly tying the two together. Aziraphale watched blandly as he opened cupboards and drawers until coming across the spare line set (although it was also disappointing cotton, not real linen) and working that into his ridiculous plan.

“Seduce her, then,” Aziraphale suggested as Crowley triumphantly held aloft his makeshift rope.

Crowley’s face fell. “Oh, we don't have time for you to get dickish with me, alright? We’re in a rush.”

“She's not in love with anyone, you could do it.”

“What, d'you want to have a row that badly?”

Aziraphale sighed, possibly a touch too loudly for their secret presence. He winced and stepped up to Crowley to return to a proper whisper. “I don't want to climb a rope, Crowley, just seduce her!” 

“I can't!” Crowley hissed, his face horribly serious. A thought waltzed across Aziraphale’s mind that he may have overstepped, but he wasn’t quite sure how. 

There was a beat of hopeful silence, followed by a second beat of more despairing silence, then Crowley spoke again. 

“I’m shit at it! You know that, angel! I know it, shit, Beelzebub knows it!”

Aziraphale frowned, digesting his response slowly. Crowley snarled and rolled his eyes, then walked jerkily to the window and tied the sheet around the window frame’s cross.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted before he had a chance. 

“Just shut up about it,” Crowley groaned.

“What do you mean you're bad at it?” Aziraphale whispered as he sidled up to the window. He tugged regretfully on the sheet, testing the knots. He wasn't very pleased that he had been left no other options, but he was now too curious about this topic to press the issue of their escape. One disagreement at a time was enough. 

“Get on the rope, you prick,” Crowley whispered back. 

Aziraphale glanced at the ground and his vision swam again. “This conversation's not over, Crowley,” he muttered vaguely. 

“Oh goody,” came the blatant sarcasm from behind him.

It took a little assistance, but Aziraphale swung onto the window and squeezed through the open panel without falling to his doom. The situations he found himself in… 

The actual climbing was fine, his corporation had rather a lot of muscle, and he found he could lower himself hand after hand in quite a controlled way. He wasn’t too sure what to do with his legs, however, so they just hung below him hopelessly searching out solid surfaces. 

The sheets tugged dramatically, pulling Aziraphale’s attention up. Crowley’s legs wrapped around the fabric, his dark pants tangling and coiling with the white cloth. Aziraphale smiled at the sight, Crowley’s flexible legs and amusing pert bottom sticking out from the wall cheered him up no end. A few seconds passed as Crowley steadily slipped down the sheets until his feet were a bit too close to Azirpahale’s teeth for comfort.

Aziraphale glanced down to gather his thoughts and get some direction and-

Oh, they were really very high up, and quite unprotected. There was still an entire bus worth of distance before Aziraphale’s feet would reach the ground. 

There was a hard tap on the back of his head and he nearly let go in surprise. A muffled, “Oi,” told him it was just an equally surprised Crowley.

Aziraphale tried to mutter an apology but his throat was too dry to make a sound, so he just forced his hands to move and began to lower again. 

It was all pretty horrible. 

“Who tempts for lust, then?” Aziraphale said as he lowered, feeling each unkind inch pass slowly by. He needed a distraction. 

“What?” Crowley whispered distantly.

“I can't yell,” Aziraphale said. He looked up and regretted it, it reminded him how far he had yet to go. “You'll have to get closer.”

Fear shot through him as the sheet tugged and swayed dangerously. Aziraphale shut his eyes tightly and held on tight, instinctively gripping the sheet between his knees to try and stop it swaying. It didn’t help. 

“What?” Crowley whispered again, this time much closer. Aziraphale looked up to find he had spun himself upside down and was face to face with him, and slipping closer.

Aziraphale wet his lips. “Thank you. As I was saying-”

“I can't climb like this,” Crowley interrupted. “Is it important?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said on instinct. Crowley’s face softened, a small smile appearing as he waited gently. As Aziraphale watched, he inched closer, his grip not able to keep him held still on the sheet. “Well,” Aziraphale corrected, realising that Crowley must be putting more than a little effort in to stay up. “I suppose it can wait.”

“Great,” Crowley whispered. 

They exchanged a smile, then Aziraphale began to climb down again, hurrying a little to make things easier for Crowley.

His feet found ground without issue. He stood on the dirt and admitted to himself, as he occasionally had to, that he did not like heights. 

Aziraphale pressed his hands to his chest and felt his breathing, willing his heart to slow down before Crowley arrived and made fun of him.

There was a rustle of noise followed by a muffled thump and Crowley stood before him.

“Are you okay?” Aziraphale asked. It had sounded a little like Crowley had leapt some of the last distance, which struck him as willfully unsafe. 

“Yeah,” Crowley said with a grin as he dusted himself of nonexistent dust. “All a bit of fun.”

Aziraphale felt his hesitation, but pushed through it regardless. He smiled as convincingly as he could. “Yes, good fun,” he agreed.

Crowley looked at him with something a bit too close to sympathy, so Aziraphale discouraged it immediately. “Who tempts for lust?” 

“Eurgh.” Crowley’s whole body moved with his eye roll. He grabbed the end of the sheet and scrawled something squiggly that Aziraphale couldn’t see with his finger. Fire began to spark, then catch and all at once the fabric licked with flames. 

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale muttered, letting Crowley hurry him away and into the streets. “Bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?”

“You said you didn’t like the sheets,” Crowley muttered. 

They trotted down a few side alleys before reaching a main street and slowing their pace. 

“Dear,” Aziraphale said as Crowley’s silence began to slip away from considered and into a delaying tactic. “Lust. I’m deathly curious.”

Crowley glanced at him reluctantly, but whatever he saw in Aziraphale’s expression softened his. “Asmodeus, mainly,” he said, the words forming with some difficulty. He shoved his hands in his pockets and took wild steps, but spoke. “They've got a few folks under their great big bat wing. Ligur's tried his hand at it a few times, disastrous results. But ticked boxes, y’know.”

“But you've never- ?” Aziraphale trailed off, letting Crowley take the prompt wherever he may like. 

“What? I've given a go of course, can't know if you don't try.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale agreed, faking his understanding.

“But I always fuck it up, you know.”

“Who have you- ?”

Crowley glared at the ground. “I'm not enjoying this blessing chat, angel,” he muttered. “It's not my department, I'm bad at it, what d'you want?”

Aziraphale studied him. The street was dimly lit, the flickering lights barely touching his features, but the light that did reach him betrayed his flush. He was ashamed or embarrassed. Aziraphale sided more with embarrassment, this was something demons were meant to have handled and Crowley wasn’t one to be ashamed of his differences, but perhaps embarrassed. 

And he was walking out of time with Aziraphale, a rare thing these days. His hands deep in his pockets, his head bowed. He was avoiding meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. So he was embarrassed around Aziraphale particularly, rather than just in general. Or perhaps in general as well, but that was hard to tell. 

Well. 

How very odd this all was.

“My apologies, dear. I didn't mean to bang on," Aziraphale muttered. Crowley eagerly grasped the moment and changed the topic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have some thoughts on what exactly they were escaping from at the start of this chapter, but i didn't think it would add anything funny so i haven't included it. Plus, I'd love to hear what any of you come up with!


	2. Dichotomy

"That's my finger!" Aziraphale cried triumphantly.

Crowley's eyes went wide as he studied Aziraphale's hands closely. "What's your finger?"

Aziraphale held his finger out. Crowley went dutifully cross-eyed to keep looking at it. "I mean I've put my finger on it, as it were," he said. Then he poked Crowley in the nose.

There was a sniff, a frown, and a rather fetching scrunch of an expression. "On what?" Crowley asked as he rubbed his nose.

Aziraphale waved his hand over his wine glass, trying and failing to get it to refill itself. He may have to do this the old fashioned way. But Crowley was in his path, sitting right in front of him on the small ottoman, his limbs busying the real estate where Aziraphale's legs should be free.

He passed Crowley his empty glass, shoving it unceremoniously in the demon's face. "I've figured out my issue with this."

"With what?" Crowley took the glass and finished off the thimble of drink Aziraphale had deemed too drudgy for his tastes. "The wine?"

Aziraphale watched in bemused adoration as Crowley's leg swung slowly through the air, somehow comfortably traveling at eye level despite how low the seat of the ottoman was. His leg stayed raised beyond what it needed to, but Crowley seemed to be distracted by holding the two wine glasses more than he seemed to be showing off. With his back to Aziraphale there was a chance for the angel to try and remember what he'd put his finger on earlier. 

Wine glugged with an unattractive sound.

"This- " Aziraphale said, "the dikitomy-”

Crowley turned on the ottoman, his feet shuffling carefully as he focused on not spilling. Aziraphale gratefully accepted his glass back as Crowley shifted to sit on the table before him rather than perform another round of gymnastics. 

They knocked knees uncomfortably for a moment before Aziraphale shifted a leg to let Crowley's sit interlocked with his. 

"The- the bit that isn't meshing to make sense," he continued.

"Ah!" Crowley agreed, "Dichamy. No, dichmatamy. Dicsh- "

"Let me talk," Aziraphale interrupted.

Crowley waved his hand and took a healthy gulp of wine. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. What's the dicking- I mean-”

"Well, it's not that," Aziraphale said, fighting a smile that he was sure would be showing through. "Although," he allowed.

Crowley's eyes widened. "Although?"

Oh dear. "It's not that, no," Aziraphale said hastily, "let's leave that alone, I think that's best."

"I should- angel, I mean, holy- I should hope so!"

"Well," Aziraphale continued, not sure why he was continuing and rather regretting it as he did. "I mean, it's not like I haven't- oh, stop it." Crowley's expression had moved from confused to utterly gleeful. 

"This is my point," Aziraphale insisted, forcibly ignoring Crowley's lasciviousness out of the room. "Do you understand?"

There was a heavy beat of silence as Crowley frowned in concentration. "Are you sure you've made your point already?"

"I think so, did you miss it?"

"I think so."

Aziraphale re-conjured his point, then finally got around to it. "You're seducky-”

"No!" Crowley cried, leaning back bodily. A bottle rolled off the table and hit the carpet with a thunk in his dramatics. "C'mon!"

"You're quite secud- oh," Aziraphale gave up on the word, it seemed determined to fight him. He grabbed Crowley's knee, one had raised as he'd fallen back against the table, and pulled it down so Crowley was forced to sit up and face him again. "You're sexy, dear. I don't understand how you struggle-"

"Azir’phale, seriously?" Crowley interrupted. His eyes weren't full yellow, but they were more reptilian than usual. "We're on this?"

"But I'm right!"

Crowley sighed, his legs shifting with the movement. In that moment Aziraphale noticed a few things. His hand was still on Crowley's knee. They were both leaning across their legs and were rather close to one another. The shop had heated beyond its norm, and there was a smear of red wine on the inside of Crowley's lip.

Aziraphale removed his hand from Crowley's knee and sat back against the couch.

"I get embraised, if you must know," Crowley muttered.

"Embraced?" Aziraphale checked. "I think that’s the-”

"No, the other- shame!" Crowley snapped. "Red! The oh no, run away!"

"Oh dear."

Crowley drank, his head tipping back as he polished off the glass. "I just say the wrong shit." His voice echoed in the empty vessel as he held it to his lips uncomfortably.

"Why?"

Crowley grimaced. "Well I'm not trying to, am I?"

"No, I suppose notsh." Aziraphale drank again, momentarily aware that this wasn't a conversation that would ever have happened sober.

Crowley turned and refilled his glass, letting his knees stay pressed between Aziraphale's and simply using the (rather remarkable) flexibility of his spine. 

How could he be bad at this, Aziraphale wondered. All he'd have to do is stand at a bar and look single. People would flock. 

Crowley eyed him, chuckling inexplicably into his drink. 

"What?" Aziraphale demanded.

His eyebrows waggled. "You think I'm sexy?" Crowley asked like he knew the answer and that that answer was yes.

And he did know the answer was yes, because Aziraphale had called him sexy not two minutes ago.

Aziraphale felt mildly dizzy from how quickly his blood drained from him. “Don't you dare read into that,” he whispered.

“You do,” Crowley continued, his voice lilting in a happy tease. “You think I'm sexy.”

Aziraphale raised his hands, an empty laugh finding its way through him. “I do not,” he lied.

“You want to kiss me!”

Unbearably, Crowley leaned towards him and Aziraphale very much did want to kiss him. But he was laughing, he was joking. The tight stress of his eyes didn’t go unnoticed, but Aziraphale couldn’t be bothered to appreciate it. Crowley was simply trying to change the topic, but it was all a bit rude. 

“Oh, Crowley, don't,” Aziraphale whined, leaning whole heartedly into the couch to avoid him. 

Crowley kept coming for him, like a mindless freight train. 

“You want to touch me,” he grinned, one hand now on Aziraphale’s knee to hold him up. “You looky-loo.”

Aziraphale could combust, or maybe dissolve. “Mind how you go, Crowley,” he muttered.

Crowley’s smile faltered, but didn’t fade away. “What?”

They met eyes and the forced humour of the situation dimmed. 

“Consider your next steps,” Aziraphale insisted. 

It was still for a moment, Aziraphale pressed into the couch, leaning away from Crowley’s looming form. Then Crowley withdrew, taking a second to carefully flatten the creases the grip of his hand had caused on Aziraphale’s pants. 

“I- d'you-” Crowley hesitated, his eyes downcast behind heavy brows. “D'you wanna see a magic trick?”

“Oh.” That was a bit of a non-sequitur. “Yes, very well.”

“I mean,” Crowley hedged uncomfortably. “I don't know any.”

Aziraphale gave him a moment to elaborate, but he did not. “Okay?”

Crowley grimaced. “Did you want to do one? Or not, you know, I've never liked it much.”

“I'm well aware,” Aziraphale said slowly, hoping more for Crowley’s sake than his own that he would say something a bit kinder soon. 

“It's nothing personal,” Crowley said quickly, going rather redder than the wine had already made him. “You know, just not my sort of thing but I- I'll watch?”

Aziraphale sat with his mouth open, trying to figure out what to say to this. He was very turned around. He decided to change the topic entirely. “I think, perhaps-”

“I'll excuse myself,” Crowley interrupted.

“No, Crowley-” 

There was a flurry of motion, too fast for Aziraphale to keep up with in his state. Then Crowley was bee-lining for the door, scruffing his hair and pulling his hood up as he went. 

“Ta!” He cried out before slamming the door behind himself. 

Aziraphale stood, far too late to stop Crowley. The proverbial dust settled in the room as it became clear that Crowley wasn’t returning. 

After a moment of self enforced reflection he acknowledged that Crowley had, more than likely, just tried to seduce him. A ridiculous giggle passed through Aziraphale, followed by a wave of pity at Crowley’s struggle.

“Oh my,” he said with a reluctant chuckle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realised i never mentioned roughly when i set this!! i'm seeing it as roughly 1980s, except chapter four which jumps to post apocalypse


	3. Just Work

(The same night, the same moment)

Aziraphale came to his senses slowly, then came to a plan more quickly. He hadn’t heard the Bentley yet so he chased Crowley down, slipping out the door gracelessly as he sobered to a more manageable tipsy state.

Crowley was sitting in the driver's seat, his chin leaning on the steering wheel and glasses back on. 

Aziraphale rapped on the window, keeping his laughter to himself as Crowley startled violently. 

“You can't drive, you're sloshed!” Aziraphale shouted through the window. 

Crowley got the door open on his second try, stepping half out of the car to glower over the top of the roof at him. “M’not driving, ‘f’you must know, m’sleeping until I can sober up, than I'll drive!” He shifted and slipped, his foot falling off the car seat and splashing slightly as he stood in a shallow puddle. Aziraphale grimaced in sympathy. “Besides,” Crowley said as he shook his foot off, “you’re not the boss of me! I’m a renegade demon, a man against the law, a-”

“Do shut up,” Aziraphale suggested. He opened his door and sat in the passenger seat, waiting pointedly. 

“What're you doing,” Crowley mumbled. He leaned through the open door to peer at Aziraphale curiously. “M’not taking you anywhere.”

“Get in,” Azirahale said shortly. 

Crowley stood for a moment, then his hips shifted as he gave a pained sigh that Aziraphale recognised as a reluctant sobering.

Crowley got in. 

“Compliment me," Aziraphale demanded.

Crowley’s frown was magnificent. “What?”

“That was a poor effort inside,” Aziraphale explained, refusing to show an ounce of pity to the silly demon. Although he did feel it. “Compliment me.”

“No,” Crowley said widely. As Aziraphale sat expectantly he sagged and a whinge entered his tone. “Angel!”

“Come on, you must like something about me,” Aziraphale fussed.

Crowley was leaning on the steering wheel again, his arms crossed so he could lean his chin on his wrists. He grinned horribly. “Maybe I don't,” he teased.

Aziraphale threw him a disbelieving glare, although it reflected off his sunglasses mercilessly. He sighed, recollected his thoughts, and found his direction. “Then why did you stay in with me tonight?”

“I like wine,” Crowley said rudely.

Aziraphale would drag him kicking and screaming into this lesson if he had to. He had performed seductions in Crowley’s name before, not eagerly but out of an assumption that it was a tactic that Crowley himself regularly employed. Apparently not. And if he were ever tested on it by Hell, he would have to do better than some bumbling insults about magic.

Aziraphale sighed.

“So you like my taste in wine,” Aziraphale prodded. 

Crowley shrugged, then yawned. “Sure.”

Aziraphale restrained a brief desire to clambour out of the car and kick the tyres in. Instead he sighed again. “Tell me properly.”

Crowley poked his tongue out. “You've got a good taste in wine,” he mocked. 

“Okay, remember that. Now pick something else.”

Crowley’s head fell into his arms in enthusiastic dismay. “Oh, pustules,” he groaned. “Like what?”

Aziraphale raised his hands, his frustration beginning to show. His fingers extended and shivered with annoyance, but it soon passed and he re-clasped them. “Pretend we're strangers,” he suggested. “Name something physical about me, doesn't much matter what.”

“I hate this,” Crowley said somberly. 

Aziraphale sniffed. “I have done seductions in your name, Crowley, you may have to be somewhat good at this one day, alright?”

Crowley snarled at him, but Aziraphale glared and found himself victorious in the form of deeply reluctant words of admiration from the demon. “You’ve got blue eyes,” Crowley spat.

“That's an observation,” Aziraphale said primly, “make it a compliment.”

Crowley pushed off from the steering wheel and sat diagonally in his seat, leaning against the car door as much as he did his chair back. One of his feet rested hazardously against the parking brake. “I like looking at your eyes?” he asked.

“Why?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley stared at him and shifted uncomfortably, glancing out the front window as rain continued to fall lightly. He gave a half shrug. “They're nice,” he said delicately.

“Why?” Aziraphale repeated. He was beginning to feel quite warm at the back of his neck, but he could ignore that. This was in Crowley’s best interests, and Crowley was always so generous with him. He could handle the mild humiliation of demanding compliments. And the complicated joy of receiving them.

Crowley’s leg resting on the parking brake shook a little, then stopped. The rain pattered gently.

“There's a light in them I don't see anywhere else,” Crowley said through gritted teeth. He bared his teeth and grinned, slightly less horribly than before. “I think it might just mean that you don't hate me.”

Aziraphale smiled, pretending to be more flattered than he was, although really he was a little saddened. He wished fervently some nights that he could be kinder to Crowley, could show him the love he deserved. “That's a very lovely thing to say, stranger,” Aziraphale said obviously, trying to help Crowley into the role-play a little. “You have rather captivating eyes yourself.”

“Um,” Crowley mumbled, staring with obvious panic and discomfort.

“Offer to buy me a drink,” Aziraphale whispered as the silence drew on. 

Crowley’s back curled to let him lean towards Aziraphale without pulling his feet from where they sat in the way. “We're in a car, angel,” he whispered back.

“Just pretend!”

Crowley pulled his legs in, tucking one under himself as the other busied about by the car's pedals. “Would you like a drink?” he asked grandly.

Might as well have a little fun. “Teso La Monja, thank you.”

Crowley’s mouth opened, then closed in an amused frown. “Really?” 

“Well,” Aziraphale allowed a touch of chagrin. It was a very expensive hypothetical bottle. “Seeing as you’re paying. Too steep?”

“Well worth it,” Crowley said with a laugh. He glanced at Aziraphale and seemed surprised to meet his eyes. 

Aziraphale hummed happily, finding and focusing on the humour of the situation rather than the honesty. 

Crowley’s gaze lowered, pausing as he looked at Aziraphale’s body, checking him out somewhat languidly, hungrily. Aziraphale felt himself heating up, but decided it was the car’s heating (which was off) malfunctioning, rather than him. 

“That's,” Crowley said hesitantly, like he was still figuring out what to say as he spoke. “Ah, a beautiful ring.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, smirking, “my mother gave it to me.”

Crowley laughed, briefly but loudly. “Oh? I met your mother once.”

Where was he going with this? Aziraphale frowned. “Is that right?”

Crowley grinned. “Mmm, she's hot,” he said.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale cried out.

"Must be genetic."

"Oh my, that is such a stupid thing to say!"

"I prefer you," Crowley said, laughing. He raised a finger, like in warning. "So far. We'll see."

Aziraphale shifted in his seat, settling into some comfort. "Why do you prefer me, dear?"

"Ah," Crowley said, his laughter quietening. "You've a good taste in wine," he mumbled.

Aziraphale smiled. "And you in company," he said, far more honestly than he had meant to be.

Crowley sniffed out a laugh, his expression achingly fond.

“I think you've got the idea, Crowley,” Aziraphale muttered. His blush had gone beyond ignoring. The whole interaction had a surprising sweetness to it. 

Crowley splayed his hands innocently. “I'm just being friendly,” he rebuked.

“Right,” Aziraphale agreed. It had all been friendly, really. And Crowley had no trouble tempting people in general, which required a talent for friendliness. It was the flirting that he struggled with. “Okay, ah, next compliment you think of I want you to put your arm on the back of my chair here,” he said, indicating the side of the chair that would lead Crowley’s arm to brush against the back of his neck. 

“Like-” Crowley hesitated, then rested his hand against the side of the cushion. He raised his eyebrows in question.

“Yes,” Aziraphale encouraged, even though it was a while off what he had indicated. "Then lean in. No, closer, dear boy.” Crowley shifted, then shifted again as Aziraphale waited. His arm rested up the side of the chair, his fingers moving the tips of Aziraphale’s hair. He was very close, leaned forwards and solid at Aziraphale’s side. “Yes,” Aziraphale breathed, “and whisper the compliment.”

Crowley tipped his head, his glasses slipping so his eyes were briefly visible, downcast and serious. “I don't have anything prepared,” he whispered. His eyes flashed up cheekily

“Shoo,” Aziraphale said smartly, waving his hands to bother the gorgeous demon away. “Let's do that again. I just said that I'm good company, right?” He mused for a moment, coming up with a compliment that would naturally follow. “So tell me you like confidence in a man.”

“I like confidence?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale sighed, filled with an unexpected wave of fondness. “It doesn't really matter what you say, the point is you're getting close and whispering it,” he explained.

Crowley let out a tight breath then pulled his glasses from his face, waving them with a sly smile before chucking them into the glove compartment. He let out another breath, then set his shoulders and leaned across the gear stick. His arm fell over Aziraphale’s shoulders this time, resting some weight on his back. Aziraphale was so distracted by the touch he didn’t notice how close Crowley drew until his breath touched his skin. 

Aziraphale gasped and faced Crowley, before quickly facing away because whispers usually happened in an ear, not lip to lip. He could feel Crowley’s quick breaths on his neck, moving his hair. 

“Your confidence is very attractive,” Crowley whispered.

A shiver ran through Aziraphale, a somewhat wanton one. “I'm glad you like m-” he caught the slip, possibly too late. “It,” he corrected.

“You,” Crowley quickly agreed. “I like you.”

Aziraphale turned back to him, finding him unmoved from the moments before, just as close. Crowley’s eyes flickered down and Aziraphale found himself following suit, watching adoringly as Crowley whet his lips. 

“Very good, Crowley,’ Aziraphale said loudly, interrupting as entirely as he could. Crowley shuddered and closed his eyes as Aziraphale reeled away from the situation. 

“Did you feel that moment of tension then?” Aziraphale asked wildly.

“Tension's bad,” Crowley said quietly.

“No,” Aziraphale breathed. He wrung his hands, desperately finding his way to the path of teaching he seemed to have slipped off. “If you get to that moment with anyone you keep it unbroken. It generally leads to a kiss.”

Crowley was still resting his arm against the back of Aziraphale’s chair. “Really?” he asked.

“Yes.” Aziraphale was breathless, his hands hurt from clutching them, and he could still feel Crowley’s breath on his neck. 

He heard Crowley swallow. It clicked, loud and nervous.

“You going to show me that as well?” 

Aziraphale thrilled, his body sparking with excitement. He met Crowley's eyes and blushed so entirely under the heavy, meaningful gaze that any falsehood he may have been defending himself with shattered.

“My,” Aziraphale said with a forced laugh, giving things another chance to dissipate. “You're very good at this, Crowley.”

Crowley tipped forward and his lips brushed Aziraphale’s ear as he spoke. “You make it easy,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes desperately, not letting himself fall for it. It was a temptation, a demonic seduction, of course he wanted to succumb. But he ought not.

He heard Crowley swallow again, the sound quiet and nervous and the lies slipped from Aziraphale's grasp. There was no demon in this, just friendship and a want for more than that.

Aziraphale didn't breathe, facing his lap, watching his hands as they, with no control from him, stopped twisting nervously and just sat, calm and comfortable in his lap.

“Oh, you're very good at this,” Aziraphale choked.

“Guess I'm a natural,” Crowley said, his voice returning to its more usual cadence. Less like raked coal sent to scald Aziraphale. “You don't want to finish the lesson?”

Aziraphale tilted his head carefully, dragging his cheekbone across Crowley’s lips. It wasn’t a kiss, but it was infinitely closer than they’d ever gotten before. He met Crowley’s eyes, lips still resting on his cheek, and watched for- for what? Comfort? Forgiveness? A common want? 

“We really had better not,” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley leaned back minutely and looked down at him, entirely soft. “I'll follow your lead,” he said, “always.”

Aziraphale floated in the moment, sure he wouldn’t take him up on it. He imagined it fondly what a life to live, one where he was free to kiss that which he loved. He couldn’t be sure of reciprocation, love was the sort of thing one didn’t guess at. Right now, however, Crowley wanted to kiss him, he had said so as much as they said anything, more than they usually said anything. And it was beautiful.

Then Aziraphale forgot himself and his worries, so taken by Crowley’s eyes and a promise of gentleness, that he kissed him. 

Their lips pressed and he could feel a shake in Crowley, something hidden and hopeful. Aziraphale opened his mouth slightly, deepening the kiss. Crowley’s lips trembled tangibly but there was a strength and vitality to him that led Aziraphale to trust that there was no reason to fear, that he may never fear again if these lips were on him. 

Aziraphale froze. Crowley kissed him for another moment before pausing, a hum of question sounding in his throat. Aziraphale curled in on himself, separating their lips as he did. He couldn’t believe it was over, he couldn’t believe he’d let it happen! The foolishness, the gall! The risk.

The mistake of it ran through him like ice.

Crowley took a few audible breaths. “Angel, I need to-”

“I will-” Aziraphale interrupted, terrified to the core by whatever Crowley may want to say. He made the mistake of looking at the demon and finding him wrecked, his eyes closed tight and his lips still trembling. “I think you’ll be fine if you ever have to-” 

Crowley opened his eyes and Aziraphale felt like it would not only be respectful to cry at the sight, it would be entirely appropriate. 

“Very good,” Aziraphale said instead, injecting a cheer he may never feel again into his words. He put a celebratory fist in the air. “Good-o.”

Crowley stared at him, his eyes swimming with silent complication. 

“Oh my,” Aziraphale sighed, “I think I’d better-” 

“It was just work,” Crowley interrupted dully. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. Then, “Yes! Absolutely. That was very good, good work, good Arrangement work there.” He could feel Crowley still staring at him, but he busied himself, straightening his vest, checking his cufflinks. He wanted to kiss Crowley again so badly, every second hurt. Instead he began to clambour out of the car. “But I had really better be off now, it was wonderful to catch up, I'm sure, how good, I'd better go.”

“Just work, angel, I-”

Aziraphale shut the car door, cutting Crowley off. He got to his front door before clutching his chest, not quite sure if it was pain, panic, or misery that had it’s tightest hold on him. 

“Oh dear,” he sighed.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he's a quick study!


	4. Candle

(A bit less than a year after the apocalypse)

"I'll get us a bottle," Crowley offered as Aziraphale slid onto the cushioned bench seat. 

He hadn't even taken his coat off yet. He'd been odd all day, changing topics and distracting himself constantly. Aziraphale was a little worried about him, he was normally more attentive. Not that Aziraphale needed attending, but he had gotten somewhat used to it since the apocalypse. 

Things weren't at the point where Aziraphale would bring it up, heavens no. But he was aware something was off.

"Certainly," Aziraphale agreed, patting down his pants like he hadn't a care to distract him. Crowley nodded and spun on his heel. He struck an impressive figure as he stalked off to the bar, one Aziraphale was happy to admire.

Aziraphale surveyed the room. Crowley had chosen their table, a small nook in the corner, big enough for three but comfortable for two. It was beyond cozy, the low light from many small lamps and deep furnishings coming together with the extravagant prices on the wine list. It could easily be romantic.

But some restaurants were just like this, Aziraphale admitted. And they went to many places together, this was nothing meaningful.

Then the bottle of Tesa Le Monja hit the table, followed by two wine glasses, one pair of sunglasses, and Crowley's overcoat. All words left Aziraphale's mind.

Crowley shuffled around the bench, taking the long way to sit close to Aziraphale again. Seconds passed in heavy silence as Aziraphale remembered all the strings attached to this particular bottle.

"Oh," Aziraphale sighed. Crowley stared at him. "That's a rather pricey one."

"Shall I pour?" Crowley asked.

Normally Crowley would have already poured, he would assume his own good taste and be quite right in it. Normally they would be halfway through a glass by now, studying the food menu and commenting on the odd lamps.

Normally Crowley never bought the bottle of wine they'd imagined when they'd kissed. Never had Crowley bought this wine. 

The meaning was clear. Not, shall I pour? But, shall I seduce you?"

"Yes," Aziraphale agreed. 

Crowley's shoulders shifted as his body dropped its tense worry. He grinned and poured the wine deftly.

"What a treat," Aziraphale muttered. Crowley had sat right next to him, so close his sleeve was moved when Crowley leaned. "Thank you, Crowley."

"You deserve it," Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale watched his glass of wine warily lest it laugh and admit this was a trick. It sat, as still as a glass ought. He turned his attention to Crowley, noticing for the first time his new clothes. Nothing extravagant, but he'd done away with the vest and found a black denim jacket with frayed edges. It would have been casual but for the true silver Aziraphale recognised in the studs. 

The glass still hadn't moved, so Aziraphale picked it up and drank. The wine was fine. Not worth the price tag, but Aziraphale had never been fond of tempranillo. 

"You look quite fetching tonight," Aziraphale said.

"Well," Crowley said, "I usually try a few outfits out when we're- you know, between seeing you. But now I, ah." He raised his glass in a brief salute and drank. "I didn't want to miss a day," he mumbled into the glass.

That was pleasantly kind. "Oh," Aziraphale sighed, aware he was probably responding in far too flattered a way to calm Crowley's nerves.

Crowley cleared his throat. "You look beautiful tonight too," he said quickly.

"I'm the same as ever," Aziraphale disagreed. His thumb trailed the edge of his love-worn vest, catching on the coarser under material that was never meant to be seen. 

"Yes," Crowley said, sure at last.

Aziraphale's heart stuttered. "Oh," he sighed again. 

"Would you like to move onto a different wine?"

"Not at all," Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley had been resting his elbow on the table, twisting to face Aziraphale without crowding him. Now he shifted, leaning back against the wall behind them, his arm pressing against Aziraphale's obviously. It was the sort of position they would usually correct if they found themselves in it, they rarely touched, especially not accidentally. Especially not sober, when they couldn't argue clumsiness or distraction. Never like this, so intentional and so much. 

They had touched like this the last time they'd kissed, in the evening leading into it. But they had used their drunkenness as an excuse. How often Aziraphale exaggerated his stupor, and let Crowley do the same simply so they could knock knees.

He hoped they wouldn't stop knocking knees. Perhaps they could give it a go when sober one day. Cross their ankles and abut their feet.

Aziraphale took a brave breath. "Although I'm not actually too fond of tempranillos," he said.

"I know," Crowley agreed softly. Aziraphale faced him, he was close. Not very close, maybe a foot away, the span of their shoulders, but he was close and leaning into it. 

"Just the one?" Crowley asked.

"I like this one a lot," Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley grinned and the adoration in it filled Azirapahle's heart.

"There's that light," Crowley said.

"Which light?"

Crowley leaned away. In the moment that followed Azirpahale's heart did a few distinct things, but he mainly worried. Then Crowley's arm slid over the back of the chair, his hand coming to rest behind Aziraphale's neck, one finger innocently touching the fine hairs that grew there.

Aziraphale's worry was taken over by anticipation, excitement, and a few drops of sheer terror as Crowley leaned towards him, bypassing the distance their shoulders had enforced. 

"The one," Crowley whispered, his breath on Aziraphale's earlobe as he spoke, "that makes me think you might like me."

He could kiss Crowley now. He turned his head, their lips barely moments from each other. Crowley's eyes roamed, fear and want warring in his expression as he watched Aziraphale for cues. 

They could kiss. And then, they would be kissing. It would change everything, but for the better. Hopefully. 

What if Aziraphale had misunderstood. They'd also gone back to France and Rome to have a look at old haunts, what if Crowley was just reminiscing a moment he'd found amusing. And didn't realise the truth and cruelty of re-enacting such a memory.

What if it changed and it wasn't good?

"If I didn't know better I'd think this was romantic, Crowley!" Aziraphale said, not loudly but too loudly for how close Crowley was. The demon flinched and shut his eyes.

"Ha!" Aziraphale said, hoping for a laugh but managing a hollow shout. It was silent, so he spoke again, regret pooling in his gut. "But- but it can't be."

"Why can't it be?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale fished desperately for an answer that wasn't one steeped in distrust. He should trust Crowley, he did trust Crowley. He regretted speaking so badly already. "No- no candle, for one," he said meekly. A coward to the end.

Crowley slipped away from him and waved at a server. Aziraphale leaned to follow him but Crowley grinned like there wasn't an ounce of tension between them and avoided him. He slid smoothly further down the cushion and away.

Aziraphale gave up on himself, accepting at last and entirely that he did not deserve Crowley.

"The Pepperjack, thank you," Crowley ordered as the server arrived.

But Crowley was trying, he was flirting and working to take this step. Aziraphale may not deserve him, but he could help at least. He could give himself to Crowley, undeserving and adoring, and Crowley could take him precisely if and how he wanted him.

It would be in Crowley's control. Crowley's choice. No longer Aziraphale's to refuse.

There was a touch of selfishness in it, for Aziraphale wanted Crowley so entirely it was impossible to ignore his motivation. But his bravery kicked in as he found a way to make it feel like a favour, a way to give Crowley everything he could.

First, though, he needed to think of a way to fix his blunder. A good way, full of symbolism. Something Crowley would understand.

He knew what he needed to do. Get a candle on the table, fulfil the last absurd requirement he'd demanded. 

"And-" Aziraphale said.

"Are you hungry?" Crowley interrupted, ever attentive. He returned his attention to the server before Aziraphale could respond. "And a menu."

"Thank you," Aziraphale mumbled in miserable helplessness as the server left. 

"I saw an ad the other day," Crowley said, his voice clear and ringing. The mood was broken, Aziraphale had broken it and Crowley barely seemed to mind. He grinned and waved his hands, speaking perfectly naturally. 

Briefly Aziraphale resented it, the ease at which he let Aziraphale go. But then Aziraphale loved him and knew that wasn't what had happened. Crowley was respecting him, giving him the freedom to give and take his consent willy nilly. 

Aziraphale rather wanted Crowley to just take advantage, no careful stepping necessary, but he knew it wouldn't happen. Not now that Aziraphale had said no. He needed to say yes.

"I was at the movies- very good car film, by the way- and the ad was just incomprehensible," Crowley continued. "It was all skateboards and those- those- they're like wheels that you balance on and it moves where you push-"

"Segways," Aziraphale volunteered.

"Yes!" Crowley said triumphantly. All happiness. Then he frowned and opened his hand, the question clear.

"Gabriel had one," Aziraphale explained. It wasn't the usual, his knowing a piece of modern technology. But this one he knew. "It was also his desk. He would segway it into meetings."

"That sounds irritating."

Aziraphale wanted to drink. Not because he wanted to be drunk, but because he needed to do something with his hands. But the only wine on the table was the tempranillo and that wasn't allowed right now. It was too meaningful and he hadn’t earned it yet. "Yes," he agreed. Then he stared at the red liquid sadly.

"Anyway," Crowley continued, "the ad turned out to be for chips, but it didn't really make me want chips. Kind of made me want a skateboard-"

The server returned with the Pepperjack.

"Thank you," Crowley said absently, waving assent as the server indicated a willingness to pour the two glasses himself. 

Aziraphale watched as the heavy shiraz filled the glasses, drowning the last chances of his being romanced tonight. Crowley continued.

"What d'you think about me getting a skateboard? Do you want some chips? They've got these sweet potato things on the menu, I think that may be the closest we get."

“Sir, I'm sorry,” Aziraphale cried out, stopping the waiter before he left. It had to be worth one last go. Even if it didn't work, if he'd insulted Crowley too entirely for tonight, it would at least signal his hope, his willingness.

The man looked unimpressed. Aziraphale smiled and the waiter's expression softened; not many could hold a bad mood in an angel’s presence. 

“Yessir?”   
  


“Could we get a candle for the table?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley had been swirling his glass of shiraz, letting the liquid get riskily close to the rim before he relaxed the spin. As he heard Aziraphale he stopped, going completely still. The wine settled. 

The waiter nodded and left. Aziraphale spared a glance at Crowley and found him staring at the table, not an intake of breath to interrupt his stillness.

“I think you'd be marvellous on a skateboard,” Aziraphale whispered. “Are they safe?”

Crowley's shoulders pulled in tightly, held, then relaxed all at once. He shifted back, leaning away from Aziraphale in a way that felt like he was closer. 

“Guess I'll find out,” Crowley said softly. 

The waiter returned with a lit candle and placed it on the table. Crowley’s eyes glowed with deep yellow, shining in the new light. 

“I'm always sorry when you’ve got your glasses on,” Aziraphale said. It was a difficult thing to say, but he said it nonetheless. If his voice broke a bit, well, Crowley was hopefully polite enough to not mention it. “You've stunning eyes.”

Crowley moved like he'd laughed, but he didn't make a sound.

"Have I ever told you my favourite colour?" Aziraphale asked. He picked up the glass of tempranillo, leaving the (honestly, more appealing) shiraz untouched. 

"Don't think so," Crowley said.

Aziraphale drank and smiled. "It's yellow."

Crowley's hand twitched. Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to look directly at him, he was close to the brink of terror as it was. But he got the distinct feeling that Crowley's eyes were trained on him, yellow and unblinking.

"It's not," Crowley whispered hoarsely.

"It is," Aziraphale told his glass of wine. "I realised a few decades after they invented tinted glass." He paused and waited for Crolwey to speak, but he couldn't even hear him breathing. Aziraphale finally turned and looked, quickly stepping up to the edge of that terror-filled precipice. But Crowley watched him, his gaze soft with an honest smile.

"I missed it," Aziraphale whispered, "you didn't let me see your eyes for centuries Crowley."

"I didn't- I didn't know you could like them," Crowley said.

"Would you like some Teso La Monja?" Aziraphale offered. He didn't know what else to say. He needed Crowley to take over, to move with the confidence he had earlier.

"Thank you." 

Aziraphale passed him his glass, which had been in easy distance for Crowley to collect himself, but the meaning of it mattered more than the function. There was a tremor in the wine as Aziraphale held it, one that didn't go away when Crowley took the glass. They were shaking.

"How much did this cost, dear?" Aziraphale asked.

"Nine hundred pounds."

That was outrageous. "Oh my," Aziraphale sighed, unable to express his undeservedness succinctly enough to be worth diving into.

Crowley grinned. "You’re an expensive date."

"Yes, well, I- I mean, I hardly- I suppose, technically-"

"Is this a date?" Crowley interrupted, his voice soft but his question important enough to silence Aziraphale's poor ramblings. 

The oxygen had left the room. Aziraphale breathed, but it was empty and useless air, and he found nothing in it to calm his body and nerves. 

So he stopped breathing and nodded instead. And just like that, they were on a date.

Crowley shifted, leaning his elbow on the table to force himself into Aziraphale's eyeline. He was close by, maybe a foot away. Aziraphale’s heartbeat sped up.

"Angel, you look scared," Crowley said gently.

Aziraphale fell into the terror. Except once he tipped, it wasn't terror. It was inevitability. It was comfort. It washed over him and filled him and finally he knew what to do.

He put his glass on the table, took Crowley's jacket lapels in his hands and pulled him close. They were already so near each other, there was little room to move, but they found it. Crowley's leg pressed to Aziraphale's, and his hand slid from his own knee to resting on the side of Aziraphale’s thigh. 

They sat, faces inches apart for barely a moment before Aziraphale spoke.

"I love you."

Crowley's gasp was long and slow. It crackled deeply, sounding as the continents do as they shift with the earth's breathing. Aziraphale held Crowley's jacket and felt wonderfully inevitable.

"Did you not know that?" Aziraphale asked. "Crowley, tell me you knew. All this time, you must have."

Crowley's head tipped forward, out of Aziraphale's sight and into his shoulder, resting lightly on his vest collar. Aziraphale moved his hands to Crowley's neck, wrapping gently around the back of his head.

"I mean," Crowley croaked. "I figured, but- I didn't think you'd say it first."

Aziraphale pressed his face to Crowley's shoulder, burying himself in the crook of Crowley's neck with a new intimacy. Old lines being crossed for the first time. Spindley fingers pressed to his chin firmly, holding him there, encouraging the closeness, the crossing. Aziraphale spoke, helplessly. "I love you and I want you and I am so scared. I need you to- I need-"

"I understand, angel, I do," Crowley said, speaking to Aziraphale until he calmed. "I understand, it’s okay, it’s okay."

"I’m sorry, I can be better, I can be- 

"Shh," Crowley encouraged. His fingers trailed down Aziraphale's neck, then disappeared. A moment passed as Aziraphale took Crowley's suggestion and stayed quiet. 

Then, "Want to see a magic trick?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale hesitated, then pulled back from pressing against Crowley's neck. They still sat close and semi entwined, but not so firmly. "Crowley, are you sure?"

"Yes, yes," Crowley said. "No miracles, I swear."

"Very well, go on then."

Crowley held up his hand, palm facing Aziraphale. His hand was empty, but his middle and ring finger held together in a fashion Aziraphale recognised from his own study. There would be a coin held between them, tucked out of view. The hold was good, though, so Aziraphale didn’t comment on it. 

Long, deeply cut life lines ran through Crowley's palm. Aziraphale considered kissing his life lines, but instead touched them simply with his thumb. He traced their path and admired the slight shiver he caused. 

To his credit, Crowley did not drop the coin he held hidden.

Once Aziraphale’s gentle exploration of Crowley's palm reached his wrist, Crowley moved quickly so his hand was by Aziraphale's ear. Dutifully, Aziraphale met Crowley's eyes rather than catch him in the act of fiddling the coin into an easier position. 

He enjoyed his task here, meeting Crowley's eyes at nary three inches was a wonderful experience. And Crowley held his gaze, deepening the meaning of it.

"Look what I found," Crowley whispered as he pulled his hand back and brandished the coin. 

"What a funny thing," Aziraphale said.

"D’you want it back?"

"No, you can keep it, dear."

Crowley smiled. “Thanks,” he said, then flicked his hand open to show how suddenly, magically empty it was. 

The coin fell from the air where it had been thrown and hit the table loudly. 

Aziraphale began to laugh, then could not stop. His eyes watered and his chest hurt. Crowley’s hand was on his shoulder, his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair growing tighter. Aziraphale turned to see him and found him grinning, a wide grin of open amusement. 

The sight of it sent Aziraphale off laughing again. 

“The trick’s better in bed,” Crowley said, his voice twinged with his own hidden laughter. 

Aziraphale was still chuckling, but kept it restrained enough to respond to this new, surprisingly forward flirt. “Oh?”

He sat up again, meeting Crowley’s eye with a smirk. Crowley looked down at him warmly, then froze. 

“Soft landing!” Crowley gasped. His hand let go of Aziraphale’s hair and left his shoulder. “Soft- cushions hide the- the coin doesn’t make a sound, not-”

“You’re a much improved seducteur,” Aziraphale interrupted before Crowley could descend further into this uselessness he so often embraced.

Crowley paused and quietened. He leaned back in and pressed his shoulder to Aziraphale’s side briefly. “You’re a forgiving seductee.”

“Perhaps, but I’m biased,” Aziraphale admitted. He swallowed and remembered his bravery, remembered how utterly wonderful Crowley was and how much he would do for him. He could help finish this, make it easy. It was inevitable. “I want you to succeed.”

Crowley smiled. “I love you too, you know,” he said. 

Aziraphale nodded, for he did know. “I had guessed.”

Crowley leaned in. Aziraphale gasped, he knew what was about to happen. He licked his lips, watching as Crowley did the same. But they still weren't kissing. And Crowley seemed to have stopped approaching. Aziraphale looked up and found Crowley watching him carefully. Waiting.

Waiting for what?

Oh, Aziraphale realised. He had run from Crowley so many times. There would be no pressure here, no rushing. There would be waiting.

Aziraphale considered thinking about it a little longer, admiring the kindness of it as the tension between them built, but he decided he couldn't be bothered. He wanted a kiss.

He closed the distance and his lips were on Crowley's. Then Crowley’s lips were on his, pressing back, and they kissed.

The world didn't break apart or crack at the seams. In fact, the world didn't seem to give a shit at all as an angel and demon leant into each other and continued to kiss. 

Aziraphale leaned away and was surprised to find his breath was short. He opened his eyes and caught the moment Crowley did the same. Slivers of yellow eased into being as Aziraphale watched with reverence, followed by blown full snake eyes with a far wider than usual pupil.

Crowley let out a breath slowly. It tickled Aziraphale's lips, still wet and sensitive from their more recent engagement. Then Crowley smiled and sat back, leaning against the wall in a perfect display of pleasure.

"I don't think it's wrong, what we just did," Aziraphale said quickly, aware that while Crowley's focused gaze wasn't yet worried, his breaking their kiss could well concern the chap.

"What?" Crowley's smile grew into a grin, hinting at a smirk. "Kissing?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said. He glanced up. The roof wasn't cracking, leaking holy wrath into the room. It just stayed there, a solid roof. "It's good," Aziraphale muttered, beginning to regret his fear again. "It's just that they'll punish, even if it's not wrong."

"It's okay," Crowley shrugged. 

Aziraphale smarted. It had been better than 'okay', if anything it had all been rather miraculous. He turned his frown to Crowley but was met by a look so kind, so forgiving that he thought to search for a different meaning. 

And he found it, Crowley was willing to sit back and wait patiently as Aziraphale worked through the last of his worries. It was okay. 

So Aziraphale took him at his word. He opened his senses and checked the ether for signs of vengeance while Crowley made his way through the tempranillo. 

His sense of the underground was a touch lacking, but demons weren't particularly subtle so he felt sure there was nothing approaching. Above him he could see that no one even watched. He didn’t extend beyond the stratosphere, that could draw the attention he was trying to avoid, but there was no hint of activity.

They were alone.

How odd. But how very nice.

He let out one last push, a wave of sight, checking all the nooks and crannies of the restaurant and the street and the butcher next door and the rat infested trash pile behind. Then he breathed and his body slunk back into itself, sagging slightly in his seat as he reintroduced his usual extremities to himself. 

A glass of shiraz appeared before him, held by slender fingers that waited patiently.

Aziraphale took the glass from Crowley and sank half of it in one mouthful. There was a chuckle to his side, but otherwise Crowley did not comment. 

A few moments passed before Aziraphale sat back up to his usual posture with relief.

"Still here," Crowley observed.

Aziraphale smiled and turned to face him fully. "Seems we are," he agreed. 

"N- no, I meant-"

"Oh, I see," Aziraphale interrupted. He had meant that Aziraphale hadn't left. Unlike last time. A brief flash of embarrassment filled Aziraphale, but it wasn't worth dwelling on. He lived with worse embarrassment than any Crowley could affect. 

"Yes, dear," Aziraphale said.

Crowley blinked, then drank heavily. "Can we do that again sometime?" he asked his glass.

“Darling,” Aziraphale sighed. 

Crowley put his glass on the table edge, the hit of it quite heavy. Aziraphale found himself drawn by instinct, not reason. And unlike every other time his instinct tried to speak to him, on this night, in this moment, he let himself listen. 

He touched Crowley’s hand. Crowley snatched his hands away, into his lap, and let out a choked breath that was far too close to a sob. 

Aziraphale searched himself for an instinct. It hadn’t changed, despite Crowley’s withdrawal. He wanted to show Crowley what and how and everything. So he leaned. Crowley’s hands were still in his lap, twitching and hinting at hope, but not moving. Aziraphale touched Crowley’s knee. The restaurant was silent, perhaps out of respect to their moment, but perhaps just due to Aziraphale’s inattention towards everything that wasn’t Crowley’s quiet gasp. 

They both looked at Aziraphale’s hand. It moved, not on its own but because Aziraphale moved it, precisely and intentionally. He slid up Crowley’s leg to his hands and tangled with them, joining their fingers together. 

Their hands raised, locked together, and their eyes met. Crowley wasn’t panicked, but he wasn’t calm. Nor sad or amused. He wasn’t anything in particular, really. To Aziraphale’s eyes he seemed on the brink of every emotion he had ever expressed, ready to tip whichever way Aziraphale pushed him. 

So Aziraphale pulled him and smiled. His other hand went to Crowley’s cheek and held him still, held him ready. Crowley just stared, letting himself be pulled in, his eyes wide, his mouth falling slowly open.

They were close, so close Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s short breaths. Their lips brushed, sending a spark of something free through Aziraphale’s very core. 

"Doesn't have to be now,” Crowley whispered, his words vibrating against Aziraphale’s hands. They were so close. 

Aziraphale kissed Crowley again, he could now and he would. Crowley pressed his lips back, returning the kiss, pressing eagerly although he did not chase with his body. They simply sat, holding hands and kissing for a moment. 

“Do you want me now?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley shuddered. Aziraphale had seen him shudder before, but had never felt it, and had never known it to be a positive thing. It was positive now, and it filled him with his own adoration. 

“God, yes,” Crowley sighed. 

So Aziraphale smiled, then fell into him and they kissed and kissed. 

The restaurant stayed open late that night. Perhaps it was a miracle. Or perhaps it was an entirely human manager who recognised that when someone pays for a £928 bottle of wine, you let them kiss as late into the night as they wish to, and simply hope they come back some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, upon copying this across I've realised why it took longer than I expected to write! It's the longest chapter! So that tracks
> 
> Thanks for coming on this ride. I'm loving all the comments, it's so wonderful, thank you <3

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr under the same name <3


End file.
